


Ineffable Cravings

by Brynncognito



Series: Ineffable Cravings [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, BDSM, Crowley.exe has stopped working, Dominant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ficlet, Light BDSM, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Other, Submissive Crowley (Good Omens), nonsexual bdsm, nonsexual kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 09:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynncognito/pseuds/Brynncognito
Summary: When Crowley starts to crawl out of his skin and climb the walls with agitation, Aziraphale helps settle him back to earth.





	Ineffable Cravings

The problem was, Crowley couldn’t just _ask_ for what he so obviously needed and craved. Hell wasn’t exactly big on all that touchy-feely, feel-good nonsense, after all, quite the opposite in fact. _Demons_ weren’t supposed to want or need anything, and if they did, they simply _took_ it, and to hell with the consequences for others.

Of course, Crowley’s never been a particularly good demon, just as Aziraphale’s never been the best angel. But he is a demon nonetheless, and because of that, instead of simply _asking_ Aziraphale for what he needed, Crowley always threw himself into a right strop instead. He’d always been a bit moody, something the angel luckily found more endearing than annoying most of the time, but Aziraphale could always tell when he’d grown particularly _needy_ because his sulking, brooding, snarling, and pacing ramped up tenfold. Crowley didn’t know how to _ask_ for what he needed, so he made it clear in other ways. 

On this particular occasion, Crowley had taken up to pacing and gesturing increasingly frantically as he ranted and raved about something which, on most occasions, would scarcely have ruffled his feathers. Aziraphale was hardly listening, mostly attuned instead to the open book in front of him, but Crowley was damn near shouting, and he finally interrupted Crowley in the middle of “ _And then, would you believe that they_ **_bloody well_ ** _said--”_ with a soft but stern, **_“Crowley.”_ ** He was using The Voice, the tone which always made Crowley’s mouth snap shut, spine straighten, and his knees turn to gelatin. All of which happened the instant Crowley heard his name.

“Come here.” Aziraphale didn’t even have to look up from his book, his soft but firm instructions hooking Crowley quite firmly somewhere deep inside to tug him in close with what Crowley was sure must have been a miracle but which was actually a perfectly mortal response to the angel’s Dominant tone of voice. Crowley almost sheepishly slunk over, his long legs folding themselves beneath him as he knelt automatically beside Aziraphale. A small smile tugged the corners of the angel’s lips upward as he caught the look of _yearning_ in Crowley’s face. Aziraphale simply patted his lap once, and Crowley slumped rather bonelessly, his head resting against Aziraphale’s thigh as he graciously accepted the unspoken invitation-slash-command. And at the first touch of Aziraphale’s fingers winding their way into Crowley’s hair, he absolutely melted against Aziraphale.

It didn’t take much, typically, to ground Crowley when he was in one of these moods. He was simply so desperately _needy_ when it came to affection and order and structure that he went a bit off the rails if Aziraphale let too much time pass between their moments like these, if he went too long without giving Crowley _commands_. It was simple things, really, which seemed to do the trick. Most often, it was just this, Crowley kneeling beside him, his head resting against Aziraphale’s thigh as he slipped into a light doze, Aziraphale’s fingers tangled in his hair and sometimes stroking his head fondly. On a few memorable occasions, it had been Aziraphale feeding Crowley choice bits of whatever he was eating by hand. Crowley didn’t typically eat, at least not the way Aziraphale did, but something about the physical, mortal sensation of tasting and chewing and swallowing helped settle him.

But sometimes, Crowley required a bit more. Sometimes, he needed an even firmer hand. And on those occasions, although Aziraphale never really _made the effort_ in that way, and though he never really understood the appeal of sex, he was happy enough to indulge Crowley in more carnal matters. After all, though the act of sexual intercourse didn’t overly appeal to him, he couldn’t deny there was something truly beautiful about watching Crowley fall apart beneath him, all flushed and needy, writhing, _begging_ , sometimes even crying with the intensity of his release. 

Tonight, though, Aziraphale didn’t think such extreme measures would be necessary. Crowley was already almost half-asleep just from the comfortable, familiar sensation of Aziraphale running his fingers through his hair, his face pressed into Aziraphale’s thigh where he not-so-surreptitiously breathed in the familiar scent of wool and cologne and books and everything else that made Aziraphale smell like _Aziraphale._

Later, they would crawl into bed together, and Crowley would wrap himself around Aziraphale, serpentine, his face pressed into his angel’s neck so he could breathe in his scent more fully. Aziraphale would smile and murmur endearments, pressing a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. And though he didn’t often sleep, he enjoyed their nightly closeness all the same, content in his closeness to Crowley and the knowledge that he’d soothed his darling’s frantic energy once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are very loved, and I may accept gentle constructive criticism.
> 
> I'm seriously considering making this into something longer, if folks enjoy it enough. :)
> 
> Thank you to bendingthewillow on tumblr for the beta~


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